


Gunpowder Whispers

by HardiganCaptain



Category: This Means War (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Domestic Violence, F/M, Gunplay, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardiganCaptain/pseuds/HardiganCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AFter FDR's death Tuck Hensen is assigned a new partner. You. Why? Collins has been watching your progress in the field, has watched you barely scrape out of messes that left veterans watching what footage they could obtain in awe. So now it's your job to clean up the mess that is Agent Hensen and Collins wishes you the best of luck with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Funeral’s are terrible things, made worse when the weather’s perfect, the sun shining down on everyone’s shoulders, a light breeze chasing the heat away. Such a wonderful day for laughing, chasing your friends around the park, anything but standing beside the grave of someone who lit up so many lives, saved so many of them too. Worse when it’s double, both laying cold in the ground while the scent of flowers is creeping up your nose, the soft ruffle of leaves… It’s horrible.

Your hands are clenched at your sides, because it hurts. You hadn’t known FDR or Lauren all that well, met them both at a few company parties, Lauren had been so sweet, FDR had been so whipped it’d been ridiculous to see him try to maintain his swaggering bravado. But it’s Tuck that really has your heart breaking, his cheeks are unshaven, a month’s worth of beard covering his face, his eyes downcast. You can’t hear the priest’s words over the sound of his Nana sobbing onto her husband’s shoulder, Collins’ sniffling as she tries to keep her composure.

No one notices when you leave the moment the caskets are being lowered into the ground, climbing into your car to sit there and try to chase your tears away. FDR had been a legend, one you’d looked up to though it had been Tuck you’d really shadowed, trying to mimic his every move. You jump when the back door opens, someone sliding in slowly before closing it with a sharp sound. Staring into the review mirror incredulously your breath catches in your throat when you see it’s him. His words are mumbled, head falling back against the seat as he slowly rubs his eyes.

“Tuck?”

“Oh… Bollocks, I’m sorry I just- It was black and I thought-”

“No, it’s okay do you need a ride home?”

“No, no, I’ll just-” his voice is husky, makes your chest tight at the sound of all those tears it’s drowning in, “Don’t want to go home, can’t really, may be gunning after me next you know?”

Silently, you slowly twist your fingers around the steering wheel, your tongue slowly tracing over your teeth as you try to think. The sound of a sob echoes through the car, breaking the silence and making it hard to breathe around the lump in your throat.

“He was my best mate.” glancing at the rear view mirror shows he hasn’t moved, though his chest is heaving with repressed sobs. “And they just- And Lauren?! They had no right to, no bloody right to do that to her.”

“Has Collins placed you in protection yet? Maybe I could-”

“Find me a shop, something that carries good liquor, something strong.” the order is unmistakable though his voice is shaky as he takes deep breaths to try and stop the flow of emotion. “Preferably something old, yeah? The older the better.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” you peer out your window looking for one of his underlings, hoping that one of them can come and talk sense into him. With the funeral going on you’d forgotten for a moment that Tuck may have a large bulls eye painted on his back too.

“Okay, no, it’s alright, I’ll just-” he’s out of your car and walking down the sidewalk towards the business district before he even finishes the sentence.

Twisting your key violently in the ignition, you start your car and make an illegal U Turn to catch up to him. His hands are tucked into his pockets, shoulders hunched with his chin resting on his collarbone. Rolling down the window you frown up at him before tilting your head towards the passenger seat.

“Fine. I’ll help but then you need to get off the radar okay?”  
Three hours later as you’re trying to half carry him up the stairs to the motel room that he’d been assigned you’re wishing he’d stopped after the second bottle. You’d taken him to a liquor store where he’d found a bottle of old Scotch in the back, covered in dust and apparently a good year because he’d twisted the cap off and tilted it back before even paying. You’re not even sure what the other bottle had been, you’d been happy that the cashier hadn’t called the cops before you’d had the chance to drag him up to the counter to pay for the four bottles he was cuddling as though they were stuffed animals he’d die without.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Sweet?” his voice is slurred in your ears, his stumbling footsteps almost taking you both down the stairs. “Yeah, you are. I remember you now, you’re that chit that goes on missions and comes back without a scratch. How do you pull that off, eh? I’ve seen the surveilance, you throw yourself into gun fire like it won’t kill you.”

His lips are brushing against your ear as he talks, his hips jutting sideways as his foot lands wrong. You feel a blush stain your cheeks, you’d no idea he’d watched you in action, he even sounded a bit in awe of you. Getting a better grip around his waist you pull him upright when it seems he’s going to slide down and stay out here on the stairwell.

“Almost there, sir, just a few more-”

“None of that, nobody calls me sir, it’s Tuck!”

“Okay, fine, Tuck, we’re almost there.” You hesitate at the top of the stairs, looking down at the key card in your hand to try and read the room number on the front of it. “Do you have someone you’d like me to call? I don’t think you should be alone right now si- Tuck.”

“No, no, no, don’t call anybody.” he almost falls down the stairs lifting a bottle to his lips, head tilting back to pour it down his throat. “’Less you can call FDR? Yeah, I’d like that, get that bastard over here right now.”

Fighting back the urge to tell him that was impossible, you prop him up against the wall as you try to get the door open. It takes you only a moment but he’s already slid down the wall, slumped and crying again. Propping the door open with your foot, you reach down and tug on his arm until you get him vertical, letting out a surprised yelp when he flings himself at you knocking you both into the room and to the floor.

“Gone, how could he be gone, had nine lives, didn’t he? Nah, down to four, but still! Never met no one like him in my life and now he’s just-”

“I know, I know,” you can’t really think of anything else to say as you slowly stoke his back trying not to shift uncomfortably.

“No, you don’t know! Franklin, Franklin was the best chap anyone could ask for as a mate, yeah? The best!” he finally pushes himself off you, stumbling as he tries to stand before taking another swig from the bottle before jabbing a finger down at you. “And the finest partner! If Collins thinks she’s going to team me up with some rookie, she’s barkin’ ain’t she?! Won’t have it! I’ll retire!!”

“I don’t think-”

“You don’t know that madwoman like I do, she hates me, I’m telling you she’s had it out for me since that whole Heinrich fiasco.” he starts patting his pockets as he finishes off the bottle, tossing it towards the waste bin and missing, the bottle breaking in half spilling the last dregs onto the carpet.

“Where’s that other bottle I bought? I had-” he pauses, swaying on his feet as he squints at you lifting his hand, three of his fingers upright his pinky staying curled. Annoyed he grabs it with his other hand and slowly pushes it upwards with a wince, “Four, I had four, only drank down the tw- three. Jesus…”

“It’s down in the car, I’ll go get it okay? Can you get your shoes off or-”

“Bloody hell woman! What are you my mother? Get down there and grab the other bottle!!”

You feel horrible about slamming the door, guilt making you a bit sick to your stomach as you trot down the stairs to your car. You can still see the way his eyes are glistening with tears, the broken sound of his voice when he’d first gotten in your car. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you debate on ignoring it until you see Collins’ name flashing on the screen.

“Ma’am?”

“Do you have Tuck settled in yet?”

“Yes ma’am, I was just going to-”

“Stay there.”

“What?” the bottle slips out of your hand and back onto the seat as you bump your head on the door jamb, “I think I misheard you, could you-”

“You heard me, I’m assuming he’s drunk. He can’t be trusted to stay put on his own so you’re going to stay there and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Mrs. Collins’ I really don’t think-”

“No apparently you don’t do you, Tuck and FDR,” her voice cracks, “Those two numbskulls were like brothers, do you understand? Stay. Put.”

“Yes ma’am.”  
Hesitating outside the door you lean your head against it with a solid thump, the bottle dangling from your fingertips. Staring down at the screen of your phone you wish there was someone else who could do this, someone he was close to who could at least begin to understand how bad he was hurting. It was one thing to idolize someone it was another to try and comfort them during mourning. Walking into the room you find him curled up on the bed, wrapped around a pillow and sobbing into it. You can’t help the urge to step back, your foot lifting before going back down. Slipping into the room, you perch on the window, aimlessly scrolling through your phone as your body remains tensed as you aimlessly scroll through your apps.

“It’s not fair.” your head shoots up, fingers tensing around the neck of the bottle. “I still don’t know how to explain it to Joe, he’s going to be wrecked.”

His head lifts and bleary eyes stare at you, no through you, as he miserably shifts on the bed until he’s sitting against the headboard. Pulling the pillow onto onto his lap he drops his chin on it, tilting his head to look at you. Holding out the bottle, you hop off the window sill to hand it over, taking it back to open it when he fumbles with it.

“Don’t you have to go somewhere? Got a bloke waiting at home for you?”

“Nah, I’m good, keep you company unless you’d rather be alone?” Not that he really had a choice but you’d rather stay in the warm hotel room than spend the night in your car.

“You can stay,” he looks around the room for a moment before shifting over on the bed, “Big enough to share I suppose.”  
“What?” you can’t help the undignified squawk, your head shaking incredulously as he pats the bed beside him.

“Oh, c’mon, I won’t do nothin’, far too pissed to even care if you’re gorgeous or not.”

Giving him a level look you slowly sit down on the edge of the bed, stretching out one leg along it so you and look at him easier. He offers you the bottle, which you turn down until it almost spills in your lap as he gets persistent.

“I’m not saying you aren’t, you are. I just, well I don’t really care right now…” he sends you a watery sort of grin. “Besides I know you’re type, all business no play, can’t take the time to smile at a bloke when there’s a job to be done.”

“What? No I’m not, what are you talking about?”

“I saw you shoot down quite a few good looking chaps when they tried to ask you out, cool as ice.”

“Wasn’t interested.”

“Yeah, well,” rolling the bottle between his palms he stares at you before shrugging. “I probably sound like a loon, don’t I?”

“Just a bit.”

“I miss him, he was good with words, could have a person wrapped around his little finger in under a minute.” squirming about to get his phone out of his pocket, he flicked it on and scrolled through some pictures. “There, right there, see that bird in the back? She hated him on sight, by the end of the night she was sittin on his lap and gigglin. The boy had some kind of magic in ‘im I tell you.”

You spend the next two hours listening to stories about FDR, an hour longer listening to all the trouble he got into with Lauren. You’re very surprised, still, after all that to find your self pinned to the bed where he’d ended up sobbing on your shoulder while you hummed some silly lullaby you only half remember, his breath strong enough to knock out a horse. Even in his sleep there’s a hitch in his breathing, his arms tightening around your waist as he tries to move in closer. Collins owes you, big. You start humming again when he whimpers in his sleep, the letters easily understood even in his voice heavy with exhaustion. She’s going to get you a Steyr M and a promotion for this if you have to beat it out of her.


	2. Chapter 2

Its the ache in your neck that wakes you, the pain radiating to your shoulders and you try to sit up with a low groan. Eyes flying open you stare down at the tousled head of sandy brown hair, confused before it finally registers. The night before in its entirety still eludes you but at least you can remember the why of it. 

Pushing at him, trying to get him to move without waking him, is actually easier than you thought it would be. The moment he rolls away you pluck your shirt from your skin, it's saturated with liquor seeped sweat and the few swallows you'd had from the last bottle make your stomach twist unpleasantly.

"Franklin you cant just do that, Collins will-"

The rest of the murmured complaint is lost as he buries his face into a pillow, his arms wrapping tightly around it. You almost make it off the bed when he rolls over, both him and the pillow landing in your lap and you can't help feeling frustrated.

"Sir!" When he doesn't respond you shove lightly at his shoulder, your bladder complaining about the pressure. "Tuck!"

"Hmm? Wha's that?"

Even with his eyes bloodshot and red rimmed, he still managed to be good looking. Nothing to write home about, flakes of drool marring the skin his beard didn't cover, and his cheek bones sleep flushed with lines from creased fabric, but still it's was unfair how attractive he manages to look.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, sir?"

" 's Tuck" he mutters dropping his head to bury his face in the pillow. "What is it with you Americans and coffee? Tea's better for you."

"Not half as good for a hangover though."

"Shh," His hand smacks against your face, your eyes watering at the burning sensation in your sinuses. "You're a bit loud, sweetheart. Jesus how'd he do this eight night's a week?"

"Seven, there are only seven nights in a week." Your voice is thick with so many things, annoyance with him and his hangover, your nose still smarting from the smack he'd given you trying to find your mouth, being put on baby sitting detail when Lauren and FDR's murderers were still on the loose.

"Now when you're Franklin." His breath hitches, swallowing thickly before continuing. "Were, when you were Franklin."

Watching him fling himself out of bed and stumble into the bathroom, you pull out your phone. It was silly to hope that Collins had called while you were asleep to let you know when replacements would be arriving, but a swell of disappointment fills you none the less. The unmistakable sound of retching reaches your ears and the twist in your stomach blows into a full out churn that leaves you breathing shallowly trying to avoid the same fate.

Never in your life have you ever been so happy to feel your phone vibrate, the feeling of euphoria dimming only slightly when Collins' name flashes across the screen. Accepting the call and lifting the phone to your ear, you feel a bit of malicious glee when her greeting hesitates after hearing the almost satanic sound of Tuck's body trying to rid itself of all the booze he'd swallowed down the night before.

"Is that-"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good God... How much did you let him drink?" 

"Let him?!"

Your exclamation goes unnoticed as she lectures you for twenty minutes before coming back to the original point. Jaw falling, you almost drop your phone as you stare unseeing at the wall across the room.

"You want me to what?"

"Not want, I am ordering you to-"

"He's not going to want a new partner so soon. The funeral was yesterday!"

"Listen to me." The cool tone in her voice makes you flinch, fingers tightening around your phone. "Tuck is a mess, there's no getting around that, but he's the best we have. I need him to get back on the proverbial horse so we can catch these bastards, even if only for a little while. That is your assignment. Get it done."

"Director, I don't think-"

You're still cursing under your breath, your phone a scattered mess on the floor, when he comes out of the bathroom. Eyes flicking towards the phone, he stares at you confused as he leans against the door jamb.

"Bad news, then?"

A sharp retort hovers on your lips, a scathing remark dancing on the tip of your tongue, but you wallow them down. His skin is so pale he almost looks transparent, the dark beard on his cheeks making it worse as sweat glistens on the visible skin.

"I should go get your things, you need a shower."

"Horrible bedside manner." He jokes, the words slightly mangled in his throat. "But if you don't mind, that'd be lovely."

The genuine gratitude in his voice eases the ball of frustration that's settled in your chest. It's not his fault that Collins is obviously a lunatic. you as Tuck's new partner...

"Do you know where to go?" His tone makes it clear it's not the first time he's asked, and you nod your head in reply.

You jump off the bed when he falls on it face first, almost stumbling on the empty bottle by the bed. Watching him drag the pillow over his head with no small flare of annoyance, you stand there speechless.

"Thank you." The rest is lost in cotton and fabric, a low groan coming from beneath the make shift cave against the light streaming in the window.

"What?"

"Pick up another bottle?"

"Are you-"

"Yes I'm sure. I can feel myself sobering and it's bloody awful." Something hits you in the stomach, a glance at your feet showing his wallet. "A couple of fifties in there, unless you think they'd let you use my card?"

Huffing, you ignore the folded leather at your feet, leaving the hotel room and slamming the door behind you. A scream is building in your throat, ticking the back of it as you slide into your car. You're not sure how your entire career suddenly fell through the cracks. How you'd finally found yourself a partner, only to get saddled with one who's going to be more of a hindrance than any real help. Or how the hell you were going to get him even close to the legend he'd been.

It's not until you reach for it, that you remember throwing your phone at the wall, watching it fall apart in a sickeningly accurate mirror to the dreams you'd had of your career. Fingers clenching the steering wheel, you took deep breaths to try and calm down. Bragging aside you were the top your graduating class, sure there'd been a few areas where you felt you could have done better but you broke at least three records. Three. 

You jump surprised when a car honks at you, turning your head to see a car sitting in wait for your spot. Barely swallowing the urge to flick them off, you turn on your car to drop it into gear, purposefully backing as close to them as possible just to heckle them. Pulling out of the lot, you dredged through your memory to try and remember the address that Collins had sent you for Tuck's things, at least having the courtesy to have someone else pack for you if nothing else.

Half an hour later, a small duffel hanging from your shoulder, you unlock the room and slip inside to find Tuck exactly how you'd left him. After being in the fresh air, the too sweet smell of sweat and the sour smell of booze makes bile rise in your throat. Tossing the bag unceremoniously onto the foot of the bed, you look him over and realize that he's fallen asleep again. Not that you can blame him, you were still dealing with hints of fatigue tugging at you with every step.

"Sir?"

A soft grunt in reply has you lightly kicking the bed, glaring when he doesn't so much as twitch. The back of his shirt clings to his back, on sleeve shoved up onto his forearm, the end half untucked from his slacks. And you're supposed to somehow turn this car wreck back into the smooth running muscle car it had been. Not likely, you'd rather try to use water to make a ten foot tall tower, your fingers clenching into fists as you gave the bed another shove. How the hell did this happen to you?

"Sir!"

"Jesus, Franklin... Go bother someone else."

There's a flash of pity that makes your throat tight, your frustration and anger ebbing away at the warmth beneath the warning tone. It's not his fault you got this impossible task, not his fault that some psychopath killed the man he considered a brother, not his fault that you were assigned to pick up the pieces without any clue on where to start. Leaning across the bed you give his shoulder a soft shake, wrinkling your nose against the smell rising off him in waves. If you can just get him to take a proper shower, you'll consider yourself well off indeed.

"Tuck?"

"Hmm?" Rolling his head, he tugs the pillow off and cracks an eye to look up at you. "Bring the new bottle?"

"No, I brought some-" You trail off when he burrows his face into the pillow, body twisting to give you his back. "You need to get up and shower."

"Later."

Later never shows up. After half an hour of flicking aimlessly through the local channels on the television provided, and trying to distract yourself with texting friends, you can't take the smell anymore. Calling Collins you all but tear off her assistant's head when she tries to deny you, before spending another hour getting Collins to agree to a replacement.

"Just for the night, that's it. I want you with Hensen, as close as you can get, to try and get his head straight just long enough to catch these bastards."

"Director, you can't just get over someone that close to you dying! That kind of thing can take months to-"

"You don't have months, you have a week tops. The people who put out the hit on FDR, aren't going to wait for Tuck to get himself together. They're going to hit hard, and they're going to hit soon." The steel in her voice softens, a soft sigh brushing your ear as you try to keep from speaking. "I've been watching you, I know you've all but stalked Tuck's career and you're still fresh from school. You know him, now use that, prod him along to the point of breaking, but don't let him die. Do you understand?"

"Who's that on the phone?"

Startled, you almost drop your phone, looking at him over your shoulder as you mouth the word Collins. His eyes narrow, shakily pushing himself onto his hands and knees before reaching out to take the phone from you.

"I'm going home tomorrow and I want Franklin's things." You couldn't hear her response, but the venemous look he shoots you makes it clear that she probably just threw you under the bus. "I don't need a partner because I quit. Do you hear me? You let them die, that's your fault, and I want nothing more to do with you."

His lip curls into a sneer, shooting off the bed and pacing as every muscle in his body goes tense.

"No, you listen. I'm done." The words are hissed between his teeth, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. "If they try to come after me let them, Franklin was the only family I had left. And he's gone. Because. Of. You!"

You're surprised the screen on your phone doesn't break when he jabs his thumb at the end button, tossing your phone at you and lifting a hand to point at the door. There's a glint in his eyes that holds you still, your fingers just brushing your phone as you stare at him. You'd seen that look on his face only once, when they'd managed to capture the terrorist that had been wreaking havoc up and down the east coast. Children had died, young girls and boys who never had a chance to be anything more than a rising star before being put out.

"And you, you snake in the grass, get out."


End file.
